Tikba rubbed at their face upon waking up, a small patch of drool dried on their cheek. Libum was gone. Kolupati was, too. So the soul took it upon themself to roam around and do some exploring, hoping they’d run into one of their employers before long. They couldn't think of a better word to call them, especially after their vow to Kolupati to promise their devotion. When they questioned further, she only confused them more when she said not to pray to her.

The courtyard was still decorated, but they were the only conscious one in it, an uncomfortable silence surrounding them. Tikba went to the Spirit House first, and climbed up the ladder and steps. They remembered Libum’s words reminding them to not look down as their feet struggled for balance. Opening the door to the House released a broad layer of scents inside it, that Tikba found extremely pungent and familiar. 

Not the scent of hibiscus, coconut, or cedar, but of something much more foul.

The new Anito hadn’t had time to take in their surroundings, too anxious to start work, impress Kolupati, and to handle Libum. They’d been tasked with ‘watching’ over him, but what did that mean? Tikba was starting to think Libum didn’t need anyone. The missing employers of theirs must have gone off without them.

What worth did their devotion hold if neither of them wanted it?

The miniature stone statues of Kolupati and their cold eyes followed Tikba as they examined the Spirit House. It was starting to get dark now, and there was hardly any light. They still weren't sure of how to react around Libum, and what exactly the Inapo meant to him. His kindness, offering up payment in place of Tikba giving up their own, now felt as if he had an ulterior motive that they were unable to understand.

The smell of something burning soon filled the house. They moved deeper in, to the kitchen. As they got closer, smoke stung their face and the empty holes where their eyes should have been. A woman, much taller than Tikba was, stood before the stove with a wooden spoon in hand. The only thing that gave away who she was was her style of dress and the fan attached to her side, attempting to both clear the smoke and keep herself cool at the same time.

Kolupati stood, burning botched cubes of raw meat on too high of a heat. She turned around and startled herself. “Oh, Tikba. I didn’t know you were here. I’m cooking some meat, it’s not that bad.” She kept muttering, insisting to herself that it was fine, spoon in her mouth. When Tikba got closer to the God, she smelled like she’d been fermenting herself. “Be a dear and come taste test.”

Tikba ushered Kolupati aside and turned the heat down, using the spoon to scrape the burnt meat off the pan.

They popped what they thought was a salvageable piece into their mouth, and immediately spit it back out. Burnt like coal, rubbery, and yet somehow still raw and cold in the middle. The meat was doused in salt. It was a miracle someone could mess up as something as simple as that. While Tikba started cleaning, they turned around and saw Kolupati whispering into her cupped hands.

The bird opened its mouth as it played a message, while Libum’s voice spoke clearly through it. “I’ll be there shortly. Make yourself useful, Lady, and start chopping onions.”

The God waved her hand, lights switching on in the cooking area as she did so. “Anuk, dear, can you do that for me? I’ll set the table for us.” Tikba searched their memory, but they weren’t too sure if Kolupati had even eaten at all. Alcohol seemed to be her only meal. 

The Anito searched for two onions in the cupboards and began chopping. As discreetly as possible, Tikba took in Kolupati’s features for the first time. There was nothing to indicate that she was of any godly descent, besides her way of dress and the jewelry she wore. They were starting to understand why she wore the Hummingbird mask.

When one thought of a God, and pictured Kolupati, they might be underwhelmed. When one thought of Gods, they thought of something…a little more divine. Kolupati was a beautiful woman, yes, but she just looked normal, too. Tikba wondered if this was the case for all the other Gods, and if their likeliness in folklore was more exaggerated to provoke fear and respect out of mortals.

“You don’t look like a God.”

“Tell me what a God should look like. Am I not to your liking?”

“I don’t know,” Tikba answered. “You just look like any woman someone could pass by in the street. Why do I look so different compared to you? Why does Libum?” When they'd first set sights on the man, they almost would compare him to the stories of the Lord Maker..."He looks more like a God than you do."

“Libum…” she started, then stopped. Her head dipped underneath an overhang, what looked like a blue tarp sticking out from an area for storage. “I’ll let him tell you himself. As for you, you have absolutely no sense of who you are, so your body is stuck in this state. It doesn’t know what you should look like. So it settled for this.” Kolupati finished setting the table and sat at the head, crossing her legs as she sat on the floor. “When your memories return, everyone should be able to see who you really are. Those pretty eyes of yours should come back, too.”

Tikba began to ask how she knew what they’d even looked like, but the door swung open, and Libum’s voice carried through to the other room. “The kids didn’t want any leftover sutow. I think it will be good as a side with the chicken rice soup you want, Kolupati.” He carried a bag and dropped it onto the counter, confused as to why there were two people in the kitchen. “Oh. I forgot you were here.” Libum shooed the soul out of the kitchen. “Let me handle it.”

“How could you forget your new roommate, bosing?”

“I try not to think about people who leave,” said Libum, not looking up from the cutting board. “Have you eaten?”

Chunks of perfectly salted, moist chicken surrounded by browned rice and broth was what ended up forming in the pot half an hour later. The sutow, skinny and long green snap vegetables, bits of fried garlic clinging to them, were smoky and crispy. It was the definition of comfort food. 

Tikba could forgive Libum for his conflicting behavior as long as they still had the opportunity to eat his food. 

“You cook like this all the time?” Tikba asked, visibly salivating as Libum brought the pot to the table. Did they eat meals as good as this every single night? “It smells incredible.”

“Part of my contract,” he shrugged, placing the pot down and swatting away the God’s hand. “I’m glad someone likes it. It was my mother’s recipe. I tweaked it a little to fit her—” Libum pointed with his lips to the woman who was scooping more into her bowl and using her utensil to stuff her face. “…Taste.”

“I love your food,” the God objected. “Why do you think I make you cook for me all the time?”

“Because it’s my job?”

The two bickered back and forth, while Tikba scooped a generous portion into their own bowl. The chicken rice soup was a relatively simple dish, but they couldn’t help but indulge when they tasted it.

“There’s more water in your eyes than in your mouth,” Libum pointed out, pushing a cup forward filled with water. “You should drink something.” Tikba paused and pressed their palm against their cheek, feeling the wetness. There was no warning, and Tikba had no idea why they were crying. They took their boss’s advice and gulped a few mouthfuls of water, not realizing how good it felt. With a piece of cloth, they dabbed at the tears. 

What a strange thing to say to someone, thought Tikba suddenly. Maybe the soul in front of him didn’t know how to interact with others. He’s usually tied to Kolupati, it seems. They could be more lenient with his behavior. Tikba didn’t want Libum to think they were rude, so they didn’t ask about any details regarding how their living situation came to be. It was safe to assume Libum was just the same as every other Anito who found themselves here.

“I’m going to bed.” Kolupati stood up and yawned, rubbing her stomach. “Unfortunately for me, my day tomorrow is full of travel. Tikba, help Libum clean up. Sleep well, you two.”

Kolupati practically stumbled back to the ladder where Tikba assumed led to her room, and then she disappeared, leaving the Anito to clean the kitchen and the dishes. “It’s still kind of early,” Tikba said after they finished. “What do you usually do for entertainment around here besides the knockout bonfires?”

“Entertainment?” Libum frowned. “I sleep and I work. There’s nothing entertaining happening in the Village.”

“If every day was the same for every Anito, people would go crazy and lose their minds from the monotony. People can find entertainment anywhere, you really don’t explore when you finish work?”

“I sleep.”

“That’s kind of boring, isn’t it?”

Libum sighed and left the kitchen. “Even if there is something happening while I’m asleep, it’s not worth it. I know the Tagkawal who work under Kolupati all too well and whatever they get into, it’s never good.”

Libum undressed, pulling off his black tapis in the dimmed room. In front of Tikba. Without warning. Tikba noticed the burn scars wrapping around the rest of Libum’s body, and tried to ignore it. “Are you going to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, or are you going to sleep?” Libum threw another banig mat in Tikba’s direction. “Kolupati is leaving, so that means we take on a double workload. The souls have to be transferred ourselves. You should rest up, while you can. Souls still need to take care of themselves.”

Libum stretched and yawned, and a sound like ocean waves forced Tikba to look towards his body. Tikba caught the briefest glimpse of sparse hair below the man’s navel. Their eyes traveled upwards and landed on the yellow ashened necklace he wore, wondering its significance.

“Transfer, sleep.” Tikba repeated, feeling like they’d lost their mind. “Okay.” They didn’t really understand what he meant, but Tikba had to look away before the staring became awkward.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Too late. “Well,” Tikba swallowed, scratching the back of their neck. “You’re just…nice to look at, and we’re both dead, so there’s only so much we can take pleasure in now? I like looking at interesting people. We should go out sometime, bosing. You can show me around.”

“You can explore the Village at your own time, after all the work is done.” Libum walked to what Tikba assumed was his room, leaving Tikba alone. 

“You have to come with me!” said Tikba. “How does that sound? Tomorrow, after work! It could be a date—”

The door shut behind him.